Magnus
by Linkstar
Summary: Erik Magnus Lensherr tells his story, beggining with the Nazi death camps and sweeping through the events that shaped the man who became Magneto. Please RR!


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MAGNUS:

PART 1: AWAKENINGS

CHAPTER ONE

When the tanks rolled in they crushed everything in their tracks. They destroyed houses, crushed fleeing Jews underneath their inexorable might. Soldiers on the ground fanned out in front of the lumbering machines, like a pack of ravening wolves, their eyes darting from left to right as they passed through the town square in full view of those they now dominated. One by one, most townships were penetrated in this way. To hear the news reports squawk over the wireless every night, one would think that Germany was simply undergoing a 'redevelopment'; creating housing for those displaced people left behind by the tanks, and uniting Germany by recognising difference and letting it flourish in each subdivision. 

I would listen to the cheery, heavily accented voice tell me in broken English, that Germany was now a utopia thanks to the Fuehrer. We were told that the Jews already re housed were happy and safe thanks to the Fuehrer, and that We would pave the way for a golden age. As a boy huddled up in a basement, my head pressed to my mother's breast, I thought it would be a wonderful idea if what they were saying was true. My mother would spit and call them filthy liars. Father just paced and looked sickly. We would hear the hum of the tanks rolling over us sometimes, and we would all look up, waiting for the moment when the German boots would come closer, into the house, and discover us. 

How long we stayed in that basement, I do not know. It was because of Father's foresight that we had survived that long. It is hard to judge my father after the passing of so much time. He decided not to inform anyone of our shelter, for fear that we would be overrun by scared people seeking asylum. We was afraid they would draw attention to us. He was probably right, but I cannot let go of the leaden feeling in my stomach that tells me he could have done more without risk of detection, that I, in the same situation and given the same choices, would have opted to at least tell people that the Germans were coming, as he knew a full twenty four hours before it occurred. But then, there was a war on, and he was not certain whom he could trust.

When the town had been almost completely cleaned out, the sound of the tanks began to recede. Above, there were no other sounds such as the ones that used to fill our town: children playing, old Yev singing, or the men engaged in rigorous argument outside Spiegel's Fine Tobacco store. There was nothing. I took that to mean the Germans had gone, but Father was not convinced. "We stay for another night, and then we will see what is left." Mother began to cry at these words, and I knelt before her and tried to soothe her distress. She knew that there would be nothing left. We smelt the smoke and listened to the shouts and screams; those who opposed the Germans (there were few) were crushed mercilessly, their bodies thrown into the river. Father had heard the stories filtering down from customers in his shop, and he would come home, his cheeks flushed with the news.

Father woke me the next morning and pressed his finger to his lips to indicate that I should not wake mother. We were going to see what was left of our possessions, he whispered, and we were going to make our way out of the country, buying our way outside if we had to. I followed him up the ladder and through the trapdoor that had sealed us in for at least four days. 

Father was relieved that they had left our house standing. The smell still lingered in the air of the other smouldering ruins of other unfortunate households. Our house being at the end of the street was probably the reason why it was not destroyed; the Germans were most likely weary from their earlier exhaustions, and finding no one at home, looted the place and left town. We picked our way through a maze of broken and overturned furniture, trying to rescue what we could and leave what was beyond saving. We had filled a sack with essential items and some items of value that the Germans had left behind, and Father took these down to the bunker for safe keeping. He returned and told me Mother had not yet stirred. He looked unsure what to do just then, a frown creasing his brow and a look filled his brown eyes that I had never seen there before. He was confused. 'We should go into the town and see what is left," He said softly.

I nodded.

"You Don't have to come, Erik."

I nodded again. "I will come with you."

He smiled down at me and placed his hand on my shoulder. "Let's hurry."

We made our way outside slowly, our ears attuned to the slightest sound. The town was deathly quiet and even the crunching of our boots as we trod on broken glass was enough to give us way if the Germans had left anyone back to watch over the town. Father shook his head as he looked around the decimated street. Most houses were piles of smoking, blackened rubble. The ones that stood were looted. Father's eyes brimmed with tears as we approached the town square; the Germans had strung up the bodies of two unfortunate souls in the very centre of the square, tied to makeshift crucifixes. How the Germans loved to show their sense of humour. We passed the bodies and headed towards Father's shop. Both of us knew that there would be nothing left, given the state of the rest of the town, but hope made fools of us both. When the shop came into view, father sank to his knees in front of me. It had been gutted and defaced almost beyond recognition except for the sign, the words LENSHERR'S TAILORING EST 1907 still legible in its proud gold script. Father let out a shuddering sob and covered his hands. I knew better than to try and console him. We were both staring at irrefutable proof that the Germans would eventually destroy us. I stood beside father and dug my fingernails deep into my palms to stop the tears from flowing. I wondered what my school friends were doing right now, if they were safe, and if the Germans had already killed them. I stood there wishing I was older, taller, and smarter. I wished I wasn't a Jew-If only so I could live. I thought I could renounce my faith and the Germans would not want to harm me or my family. Looking at the remains of our life being stirred by the winds, I knew then that it would never be that easy. 

After some time, my father stood up and put a shaky hand on my shoulder and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "Let's get your mother," he said softly. "There's no point in us staying any longer." he took my hand and we walked slowly back through the town.

"Why do they hate us?" I asked after a few beats of silence. 

Father looked down at me and smiled sadly. "Not all Germans hate us, Erik."

"It doesn't feel like it."

"Those in power are the ones who hate us. The German people are scared. We all thought that after a while, things would get better. We listened to them." Father's jaw set itself into a hard clench. I could see his teeth grinding, the muscles of his jaw working beneath his skin. "We were fools."

We walked back to the bunker in silence, heads bowed, both feeling the weight of our predicament, when we heard the screams coming from our house. Father cursed and began to run. "Your mother!"

When we had reached the end of the road we saw the source of her screams: Two German SS soldiers were dragging her out of our broken home. Father and I immediately ran to her aide-although we knew we had no way of turning the tide. They had her, and we could not let them take her without us.

The Germans regarded us with amused looks. One of them, a tall blonde with cold grey eyes, dropped my mother to the ground and instructed his friend to keep watch over her. She wasn't screaming anymore, just lying there, shaking and sobbing. The tall blonde approached us and clasped his hands behind his back. "We often come back to do sweeps after the initial operation has been carried out," He said in a loud, clear voice. "We are aware that some people hide until we are gone, you see."

"And usually, we shoot those people who remain on sight." He smiled then, displaying a row of white teeth that to my young mind resembled those of a wolf. In my dreams years later, that German would sometimes turn into a wolf in front of our eyes, snarling and pacing back and forth with monstrous intent. I don't ever remember wanting to kill someone as much. "But you all evaded capture for so long. Some don't even last a day. That's when the second team sweeps in. It was only by chance that we came upon your bunker, as we were passing through here on or way and decided to do a final check."

"Why Don't you just kill us, then?" my father asked. His fists were clenched at his side and his body was rigid with fear and hate.

The German's smile did not waver. "You have displayed a knack for self preservation that I admire, Herr Lensherr. We could have very easily killed you straight away. Do not let your impulsive tongue persuade us to change our minds."

And with that, the but of the German's gun connected with my father's skull. The tall blonde German turned to me, his brow creased in concentration. "Trust me, young man," He said as he readied the rifle again. "We do have some mercy."


End file.
